


This Disease

by JarOfJelli



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn, Falsettos - Lapine/Finn (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character study I guess???, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, HIV/AIDS, I just love Jason you guys, Jason's take on things, M/M, Super emotional shit, This is gonna be super depressing, Trina and Mendel are doing their best, marvin's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JarOfJelli/pseuds/JarOfJelli
Summary: There's only so much one child can endure before they begin to fall apart.





	This Disease

Death was inevitable. Jason knew this very well, from a young age. He was a smart kid after all, and he prided himself on his realistic views of the world.

The pride was stripped away, quick and harsh, like a band-aid, when Whizzer died. He managed to somehow keep going, though. He knew that's what Whizzer would have wanted. He kept playing baseball, he kept winning at chess, and from the outside it looked like he wasn't affected at all.

This stayed the case, as he sat by his father's hospital bed, hearing the beeping from the ECG become slower and slower. Jason barely processed when his father flicked his eyes up, his glassy, dull eyes, to look at him. He gave a hopeful smile, as if he still expected to get better. Jason just stared back, before his father rested his hand on his, before letting his eyes fall shut. He had given in.

His eyes stayed dry. The prolonged beep sounded almost deafening. It was grating and high-pitched, and almost drowned out the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He barely heard Cordelia's wails, his mother's quiet, but audible sobs, or Dr. Charlotte chokingly reading out the time of death, and calling for nurses.

He stared at the hollow shell that used to be his father.

The empty case that used to begrudgingly attend his baseball games just because he loved him. The frail husk that once laughed and joked at the dinner table with him and Whizzer. The thing that once held Whizzer tightly in Whizzer's hospital bed, lovingly and as if nothing were the matter.

His breathing wasn't ragged, or forced, like it should be at the sight of the corpse of his own father. In fact, he was barely breathing at all. He's not sure if that was why the world was spinning around him, though. His eyes weren't even focused on the body, they were just staring. Staring through his father, at the sickness that had taken two of the most important people in his life.

He couldn't move. Something in his head was screaming at him to run away, to turn and not have to witness solemn, empty hospital workers take his own father to a cold, desolate hospital morgue. But he was paralyzed. In fear or bewilderment, nobody, not even Jason, was sure of.

The only sense that seemed to be working right now, was feeling. He could feel the hospital room become 5 degrees colder, and he shivered very slightly, as if his father's heartbeat was the only thing keeping the room warm. He felt the rough, thin hand on top of his cooling. Jason felt like he was going to vomit at the feeling.

He almost did, before delicate hands uncharacteristally very insistently pulled him up from his chair, subsequently pulling Jason's hand away from his father's. He watched in internal horror as the hand stiffly fell to the bed, not changing position or anything. As if he were frozen in time.

The ringing in his ears was almost so loud he didn't hear his mother's soft, but distressed and choked voice whisper into his ear "I think it's best if you leave the room, sweetheart".

Jason didn't know what was best right now. One part of him wanted to stay with his father, even as he saw the nurses move him out of the room, and the other wanted to bolt out of the hospital, and curse God for forsaking him and the people he loved so much.

But he couldn't do either of those. His voice wouldn't come out to say anything. His mouth remained slightly agape. His limbs remained loose and slack but stiff and tensed all at the same time, and Jason couldn't move. He tried to scream, but nothing but quick, occasional breaths passed his lips.

"Darling...? Are you listening?" His mother's voice rang out again, this time accompanied by hands he recognized as Mendel's giving his shoulders a quick shake, but failing to break Jason out of his greif-stricken stupor.

He heard his mother and step-father mutter words behind him. He wasn't listening, the high pitched scream in his head was too loud, but he picked up words like " _catatonic_ " and " _outside_ ".

Somebody who was clearly Mendel wrapped his arms around Jason, and he felt himself being lifted. He felt his hands tense and his eyes widen, the first movements he had made by himself in minutes. Or hours. Or days. Or weeks. Jason didn't know what he was doing, and he consciously didn't want to do it, but he gave a rough kick to Mendel's stomach, yelling about _"don't touch me_!" and a series of cuss-words he didn't know he knew.

Mendel dropped him, still gentle, but took in a sharp inhale from the pain. Able to finally control his limbs, Jason ignored his mother's upset and confused voice calling after him as he willed his legs to move, and fast. He didn't know where he was going, but he was consciously hoping it was an exit. He wanted to leave and not look back. Maybe he'd hop on a train to somewhere nobody knew him and raise himself. He wanted to forget everything.

He wanted to forget Whizzer, and all of his charming, but stubborn behaviour. He wanted to forget the shaking hand on his shoulder at his bar mitzvah, just a year prior, and the raspy "thank you" that followed it. He wanted to forget his father, in all of his reluctant affection towards everybody. He wanted to forget the warm fuzzy feeling he felt when Whizzer and his father announced they were back together.

He found his way into the lobby, thankful, and pushed the door open. He was barely out the door before he was collapsed on the pavement. His hands were scratched and his pants were tore open, but Jason didn't care.

It was right there he vomited onto the pavement. He felt so sick and so tired of everything, tears pricked at his eyes, and the spring sun did nothing to warm him. He felt unclean as he heaved and sobbed, before promptly letting out all the contents in his stomach once again. He was just gagging and wailing after a while, nothing left to spill out onto the hard, rough pavement. He finally retained his breathing, and took enough energy to crawl away from the puddle of vomit and tears.

And then Jason screamed, rough and anguished.

He screamed at God. He screamed at his mother. He screamed at Mendel. He screamed at Whizzer. He screamed at his father. He screamed at this disease nobody would tell him the name of. He screamed until his voice was hoarse and all he could manage were laboured breaths.

He felt dizzy. The room was spinning ten times faster, and Jason just wanted it all to be over.

And then he collapsed on the ground, where his step-father would find him a few moments later, and carry him back into the hospital. Jason wasn't conscious enough to protest being admitted to the hospital the next hour, he was too busy dreaming of a celebration, where his gay fathers were the only attendants, and they were all smiling and cheering as if nothing was wrong. As of this is the way the world was meant to be.


End file.
